


Grief

by KKray



Category: The Good Cop (TV)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Family, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Series, TJ is trying to be a Good Son, Trials
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2020-01-01 09:41:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18333446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KKray/pseuds/KKray
Summary: “Don’t grieve. Anything you lose comes round in another form.”― RumiThe trial does far more than sentence Tony Caruso, and TJ mourns his relationship with his father.





	1. Denial

“Nothing ever becomes real ‘til it is experienced.”

―John Keats

“The truth is rarely pure and never simple.”

― Oscar Wilde

* * *

 

TJ hears about the arrest in English. They're reading Macbeth, and TJ, no matter how hard he tries, cannot pay attention. All the flower language irritates him, but when he ignores the fluff and focuses on the characters and their motivations, he is fascinated. He's so engrossed in the intricacies of Lady Macbeth manipulating her husband he doesn't notice the teacher calling his name.

"Caruso!" He jolts, and his classmates laugh. Mrs Hendrickson looks impatient. She gestures to the door. "Main office. Take your stuff." The class jeers quietly as he leaves. He can't wait until he graduates and goes into the professional world. People, while just as judgmental as they are in their teens, are much less obnoxious when they're earning a paycheck.

He can't think of what he's done to warrant a trip to the office. He hasn't pulled any pranks, he turns his homework in on time, he isn't flunking any classes. Maybe Mom made an appointment and forgot to tell him. Rare, but possible. Forgetting things was more Dad's style.

The receptionist points him to the principal's office. Alarm bells ring in his head. The principal wouldn't get involved unless there was something important going on. Something desperately important. Forcing himself to be calm, to not let his emotions rule his actions, he knocks on the door.

Mom is sitting across from the principal in an uncomfortable chair. Both adults are grim. There are tears in Mom's eyes. TJ's heart stops. The last time he'd seen his mother cry was when Dad got shot.

"Is Dad okay?" He blurts. It's rude, he knows, but he can't be bothered with manners when his dad could be dying.

Mom pales, but shakes her head and reassures, "He's okay, TJ." Her breath hitches. "He's okay."

He slowly sits in the other chair. The principal takes the opportunity to speak. "Mrs Caruso, due to these," he hesitates, looking for the correct words, "circumstances, it might be best to keep TJ home for the rest of the week. His teachers can send him the assignments he'll miss."

She nods, swallowing hard. Her voice shakes slightly as she thanks him. They leave then, but instead of going home, Mom takes him to the pier. TJ bites his tongue in an effort to not bombard her with questions. One look at her keeps his mouth firmly closed. Her knuckles are white, clenched on the steering wheel even though they're parked. She still hasn't explained why she pulled TJ out of school.

He's getting scared. Both of his parents have tried to keep the dangers of his dad's job from him, but he's not an idiot. He's seen the anti-police movement, he reads statistics, and he's talked to other officers from his dad's department. There is a very real possibility of Dad going to work one day and never coming home. But Mom said Dad was fine. So what on earth could be wrong?

It's cold. TJ can see his breath. Dozens of scenarios flit through his mind; each one significantly more terrifying than the last. He's almost hyperventilating when Mom pries her fingers off the wheel. "TJ." She doesn't turn to look at him. She stares straight ahead. "I have to tell you something." Taking a deep breath, she says, "Dad's been arrested. He's being charged for corruption."

He can't help it: he laughs. "What?" The words don't make any sense. "No, that can't be right. Dad's one of the best cops in the city!" 

Tony Caruso is one of the most honorable and noble police officers the city has. He dismantled three major drug rings and helped catch hundreds of criminals. The mayor has personally congratulated him for the work he's done. Indignation rears in his chest. He won't tolerate slander against his father.

"TJ..." 

He's ready to argue, to defend his father. Mom finally looks at him, an unreadable expression on her face, and he falters. She is the most passionately loyal person he knows. She'll defend her family relentlessly. Why wasn't she angry about Dad getting arrested? Why wasn't she at court, supporting Dad, instead of sitting with TJ? 

Why does she look so tired?

"Dad didn't do it. He wouldn't!" Why is she looking at him like that? He swallows. "Right?" He feels like he's five, tip-toeing to his parents' room during a thunderstorm, only to find the door locked and the house abandoned. His chest is too tight. 

She reaches for him, pulling him gently into a hug. "Oh, sweetheart." She cups his neck and buries her face in his hair. It's not an answer, but maybe that is her answer.

They sit in the car until they're both shaking from the cold. They go home, and TJ pretends his world is still steady under his feet.

The arrest is splashed across every magazine, website, and news channel. Media vans are packed on their street. TJ can see at least one from every major Brooklyn newscast. Reporters surround the house, not quite daring to breach their lawn and get called up on harassment charges. Mom closes all the blinds, scowling at the muffled questions screamed at them.

He should be grateful he doesn't have to go to school, that he doesn't have to fight through the crowd to wait for the bus. Instead, he just feels sick. Breakfast is a quiet affair. Mom is subdued, obviously preoccupied and worried, and he is too numb to care.

They visit Dad later that morning. 

TJ can't remember how many times he's gone to the station to visit his dad. The station is one of his favorite places. Most of the office love him, sneaking him snacks when Dad isn't looking (what they don't know is he splits the treats with Dad and they go for ice cream), and telling him funny arrest stories. It's a lively, bustling place and TJ loves it. 

Usually.

Now, it's a mocking parody. The station is quiet. No laughing, no sounds of ping pong from the break room, no chatter. The air conditioning rattling turns from background noise to the only noise. Officers avoid eye contact with him or Mom, but stare at their backs with pity.

Officer Adams takes them to an interrogation room. Adams ("Call me Trevor!" He mussed TJ's hair. "Officer Adams makes me sound old.") doesn't work with Dad, but he always has something to say to TJ. He acts like this is just another visit. He talks about anything and everything, clearly not expecting either of them to contribute. TJ is absurdly grateful. 

Trevor unlocks the door and addresses Mom. "If you two wait in here, I'll go and get Tony."

Mom steps warily into the room, sinking into a chair and hugging her purse to her chest. She doesn't come to the station often. To someone who doesn't see it regularly, the whole building is intimidating. TJ would never admit it, but being on this side of the mirror is nerve wracking. Dad brought him in one day years ago to show him what the detectives use behind in the other room during an interrogation: the recording equipment, shelves of files, table and chairs. The whole room was actually rather boring, but Dad was so excited to show TJ everything the two quickly moved on.

The door opens and Dad walks in. He's wearing an orange jumpsuit and slippers. He doesn't have handcuffs on, but TJ doesn't miss the way he rubs his wrists. Neither does Mom.

"Connie! TJ!" Dad pulls them into a tight hug and kisses the tops of their heads. In spite of TJ's anxiety and fear, he relaxes in his dad's arms and hugs him back. The warm weight around his shoulder and the familiar smell of alcohol and cigars lets him push aside his concerns and just be with Dad.

But the present won't be ignored for long. TJ wriggles out of his grip, and Mom draws back as well. Dad settles in the chair across the table. How he's able to make the hard plastic seem comfortable is a mystery. "How've you been? It's only been a day but it feels like I haven't seen you in forever!" He grins.

Mom attempts a smile, but only manages a strange sort of spasm in her lips. "Hectic. TJ here has the rest of the week off school. Good thing, too. It was a nightmare getting through the reporters. They're camping out on the sidewalk."

Dad scoffs. "Too bad. If they get on the lawn, call the cops and get them arrested for trespassing." He pauses and laughs. "Even better, throw stuff at them until they leave! They always need a kick up their pants."

"They could sue us instead for property damage," TJ points out. He regrets it immediately.

Dad looks at him, grin frozen on his face. It's an awkward couple of seconds before he rallies and laughs again. "No, you're right. Don't want any more trouble."

The rest of the visit lapses into stilted small talk. Dad asks for some clothes and other things from home, and Mom promises to bring a bag the next time they visit. Running out of subjects not related to the whole sitting-in-jail-awaiting-trial situation, Mom decides to wrap it up. Trevor takes Dad back out of the room (to his cell) and then brings them back up to the lobby.

They don't talk on the ride home.

Over the next week, they visit his dad four times. Each one is just as strained as the first. Dad is content to try and pretend like they’re just dropping by, like he’ll be home in time for dinner. TJ’s not sure if that’s to comfort them or himself. It doesn’t work either way.

Staying at home for the week is difficult. He can’t focus on his homework and tries to watch some TV. He shuts it off two minutes later, unable to stomach the constant reports speculating about Tony Caruso. Books don’t hold his attention, and he dies over and over again in any game he tries to play. Mom deep cleans the kitchen, something she only does when she is stressed out of her mind (he remembers sitting at the table, watching her clean the stove for the third time, waiting for a call from the hospital). They’re avoiding each other, TJ knows that, but he can’t remember ever seeing his mom as upset as she is right now. She tries to hide it, smiling brightly and chatting like normal. She pretends all day, and TJ pretends he doesn’t hear her cry all night.

She makes him wear a suit to the bail hearing. She attacks his irritatingly fuzzy hair with a comb and gel. Personally, TJ doesn’t see how his dressing up will change anything. If it makes her happy, then he’ll do it. He tries to ignore how the collar itches or how the sleeves are an inch too short.

Dad is being defended by a union issued lawyer. He (“David Lawrence,” he briskly shakes her hand, “I’ve been appointed as Officer Caruso’s attorney”) assures Mom that he knows what he’s doing, that these kinds of cases are “par for the course” in any police precinct. TJ's attempts to follow the lawyers’ arguments fail. He’s too wired to track the technicalities they exploit. After too long a time, the judge says, “The defendant has not been classified as a flight risk. Bail is set to twenty thousand dollars.”

The courtroom explodes in chatter. Everyone was allowed in, so it’s packed. Reporters, policemen, sightseers. Gossip on Tony Caruso was worth its weight in gold. Information on his family was twice that. Microphones are shoved towards TJ and Mom, pushy reporters yelling for comments.

TJ doesn’t care. He watches silently as his dad is led out of the courtroom, head held high. He remembers a sunny afternoon years ago. TJ never got along with the kids at school, and one time when he was cleaning his skinned knees Dad sat next to him. (“You’re a Caruso. The best of the bunch. We never let them see us down.”) He gave TJ a pep talk, taught him how to throw a punch, and told him that he won’t get in trouble if no one catches him. (When TJ comes back the next day with a bruise on his cheek and split knuckles, Dad ruffles his hair and takes him out for ice cream).

The precinct releases Dad on Saturday. Trevor stops them before the trio leaves. “Listen. Somehow, your release was leaked to the press. There’s a crowd of reporters waiting out in the front of the office.” Mom tenses. Trevor looks at each of them. “If you want, I can have an officer bring your car to the side entrance. No reporters are allowed.”

Dad raises his eyebrows. “What, you think I can’t handle some nosy journalists?” TJ can see his metaphorical hackles raise. “You can take your-”

“Yes, thank you.” Mom interrupts. She lays a hand on Dad’s arm, ignoring the irritated glare he shoots her and addresses Trevor directly: “TJ and I would appreciate that.” She smiles blandly at Dad.

TJ can tell he wants to argue, but Mom holds his gaze and he rolls his eyes. “Fine. Get the car. I’m still going to talk to the journalists!” He presses a kiss to Mom’s cheek and ruffles TJ’s hair. “I’ll be right back.”

TJ and Mom wait in the car for five minutes before Dad comes back. He chatters brightly all the way to the house. “Man, those beds were hard. Are they concrete? I got a crick in my back and it’s driving me crazy. Tim brought me some brandy. Said it was a ‘colleague special,’ but he only brought one cup! And then Carlos- you remember Carlos? Beefy guy with all the tattoos?- he came up to us and said, (he drops his voice to a growl), “What are you doing? There’s no alcohol here!” Tim was real scared that Carlos was going to snitch, but then I said, “There won’t be any alcohol once we drink it!” He chuckles. Mom smiles faintly.

TJ twitches. It seems idiotic to break the rules when being investigated for rule breaking. However, to bring it up guarantees an argument. TJ loves and admires his dad, but the one subject where they disagree completely is bending the rules. Dad is fine with it, even encourages TJ to bend as many as he can. TJ remembers their road trip to Florida. His parents argued over how fast they would drive. Dad argued that going ten, fifteen over the speed limit would cut at least an hour and a half off their travel time. Mom countered with the ramifications should they be pulled over.

_(“Christ, Connie! It’s just ten miles over the limit. Everyone does it. What’s the big deal?”)_

_(“You break one rule and they all break.”)_

Dad drove a (slight) compromise of twelve over and the rest of the ride was tense.

TJ bites his tongue in favor of the peace.

They have to crawl through another sea of reporters in front of their home. The crowd blocks their driveway, but Dad blares the horn until they back off. TJ listens to them beg for a comment: about the charges, how the time in lockup was, how his family was taking the news. Dad closes the garage door and they escape inside.

They don’t go to church the next day. It’s not a surprise that Dad doesn't. He comes on Christmas and Easter, and occasionally for confession, but generally ignores the church. TJ goes with Mom almost every Sunday. There’s something calming about hearing the familiar hymns and prayers with Mom at his side.

TJ keeps to his room, lying in bed until he runs out of justifications. He attempts to work on the homework his teachers gave for the entirety of last week, but he can hear his parents talking downstairs and his focus is shot. He can’t tell what they’re saying, but the cadence of their conversation effectively distracts him anyway. TJ decides his homework is a lost cause. He already knows what happens at the end of Macbeth, and calculus would be difficult even if he was in class. He listens to Mom and Dad talk until he’s called down for dinner.

Mom made spaghetti, one of his favorites, but TJ doesn’t taste it. Mom and Dad chat, purposefully avoiding any mention of the current ‘situation’ and making efforts to engage him. He eats quietly and excuses himself, pretending he doesn’t see the look passing between his parents.

TJ goes back to school on Monday. Dad’s on house arrest, so Mom brings him. He wanted to take the bus; he’d walk if he could, but she insists, smiling slightly, “I don’t want anyone to bother you, TJ. Please just let me drive you.” She’s absolutely sincere and TJ feels his resistance crumble. He wonders when he became so bad at saying “No” to her.

He gets there a half hour before school starts, but other students already fill the halls. Though no one notices him, he ducks his head anyway. He sits ( _hides_ ) in a corner of the library, looking over the information from last week. He’s a good student, and he’s confident in his capabilities, so although he hasn’t read the material yet, he can’t bring himself to care. He stares at his calculus textbook until the warning bell rings.

The day passes slowly. TJ is no stranger to being bored in class, and thoughts of the upcoming trial chase away anything productive. He resolves to watching the clock and counting down to the end of the day.

It’s lunch when TJ is first confronted.

He almost makes it to his seat in the back of the cafeteria when he hears “Hey Caruso!” Miles Walker, linebacker on the football team and one of the more popular kids, calls out “Is it true about your dad?” TJ ignores him. There are better things to do than pander to a jock. Such as eating lunch. He sits down and unwraps his sandwich.

He looks up at “Hey TJ!” and a tray smacks on the table. It’s Kelsey Schwartz, the daughter of an officer in Dad’s precinct. They aren’t friends, per se, but they hang out at police events and know a little about each other. She’s bright and bubbly, and he is always relieved when he sees her. Dances and Christmas parties would be so boring without her company. “What’s up?”

He looks at her bemusedly. “Nothing much. You?”

“Oh boy. You are going to wish you hadn’t missed last week. It was absolutely crazy!” She prattles on about the latest gossip and doesn’t seem to mind his one word responses. Kelsey has a lot of friends, and she normally sits with them. He likes to think he has a couple friends, too, but to call them ‘friends’ was a stretch even to him. Friendly acquaintances perhaps. They talk during passing time but wouldn’t eat lunch together. He can’t think why Kelsey’s sitting with him, but he’s grateful. They talk until the bell rings and she leaves him with, “Tell your dad we’re on his side.” The sincerity in her voice makes his eyes burn as he mumbles a thank you.

He makes it through the last couple of classes and hurries outside. The high school was bad enough on a good day, and now it feels like a prison cell. He laughs humorlessly. What a terrible choice of words. Mom picks him up and they go to the grocery store.

“We need to eat something other than cereal or noodles.” Mom’s been reading health magazines, and TJ knows that there will be some strange dinners in the future. She showed him a recipe a few days ago about zucchini and making them into noodles. Why would anyone want to eat zucchini noodles?

“I like macaroni and cheese!” he protests. “It’s very easy to make and clean up.”

She chuckles. “If it’s so easy, then why do I always clean up the pot?”

“I never said I would do it.”

They grin at each other and TJ relaxes. When they get home, loaded down with vegetables and fifty dollars lighter, Mom is outright laughing, and his smile is so wide his cheeks hurt. It’s the most casual they’ve been since Dad was arrested. She has him peel and slice the potatoes as she preps the rest. A cooking show plays in the background, and they work in comfortable quiet. Dad’s at a meeting with his lawyer and won’t be back until six. As it’s only four, he’ll be gone for a couple more hours.

After he finishes the potatoes, Mom makes a comment about his homework. “You don’t want to fall behind. It’s hard enough to catch up on an entire week of classes, much less keep on track with the work they’re assigning now. You’re a great student, TJ. I’m sure you’re already almost done.” She doesn’t look up from the carrots she was cubing.

He doesn’t tell her that he hasn’t started working on anything yet. She has enough to worry about. Nothing is due for another week. He has time. He can get it done. He works steadily until Mom calls him to dinner. And if his effort was half-hearted, so what? It wasn’t like he was going to fail the class. He’s having an off day. He’s allowed to have them.

Dad carries the conversation at dinner. He’s cheerful in a way that makes TJ nervous. Whenever that obnoxious cheer comes out, something bad always follows ( _“Hey TJ! Want to see a magic trick? Got any cash? Good! Watch it disappear!”)_ He’s bracing himself the entire meal.

It’s not until they’re clearing the table that Dad drops the bomb. “My court date is for March 6.” It falls like a punch to the stomach. TJ clenches his jaw and quickly calculates how many days left. If today was January 16, that means they had two months. 49 days. The future, once looming vaguely ahead, is sharp and clear and frightening.

Oblivious to the change in atmosphere, Dad laughs. “This will all be done by Valentine’s Day! How’s that for a present, huh?” He waggles his eyebrows at Mom. “Just think of it. The mayor’ll be there. ‘Oh, we’re so sorry Officer Caruso. You’re the best cop the city’s ever seen!’ ‘Oh, I’m just doing my job.’” Dad’s voicing both parts of the dialogue, making the mayor act out ridiculous gestures. TJ feels his lips twitching up. “‘We’re building a statue of you to put in the park in honor of your outstanding work.’ ‘You don’t have to do that! I’m only doing what any other officer does.’ ‘Oh no, I insist.’ ‘Well, if you insist.’”

TJ laughs at his antics. Dad knows exactly what to say to break the tension. There was a reason outside departments requested to work with him. He was the most charismatic officer in the entire precinct. He could charm his way in and out of anywhere.

“TJ.” He looks over. Mom is watching Dad, her face serious. Her back is straight and knuckles white. She smiles. It’s distracted, fleeting. “Can you go to your room? I want to talk to Dad.” Dad can’t hold on to the levity, and he just looks tired.

He debates arguing, pointing out that he’ll be able to hear them anyway from his room, so he might as well sit with them, but he feels the mood turn strained and isn’t sure he wants to hear. He nods. If he can finish his calculus assignment tonight, he’ll have something to turn in tomorrow. And if he listens to music a little too loudly to be polite, well. That’s no one’s business but his own.

The media backs off in the next couple of days. TJ starts to ride the bus again. The normal routine begins to fall back into place, with a few adjustments. Dad doesn’t go to work, but he’s gone just as long meeting with his lawyer. Mom is always home when he comes back from school. Kelsey sits with him at lunch.

School is weird. He would try to think of a better adjective, but it’s fitting. While he might not have any friends, he at least has some acquaintances to chat with during passing time or breaks in class. Well. He _had_ some. Since Dad’s arrest, he’s been totally ignored. No, not ignored. Isolated? Shunned? None of his classmates talk to him anymore. Instead, they watch him, waiting to see if the news stations were true. Aside from Walker, no one has approached him about his dad. He thinks Kelsey has something to do with it. She has enough friends and popularity to keep curious students away.

Kelsey is the only person he talks to during school. They talk about classes, bemoaning the amount of work the teachers are determined to pile on or books they’ve read. She’s careful to stay away from personal lives, and he pretends not to notice.

Mom waits three days after excusing him to his room to address the argument.

She knocks on his door while he’s doing homework. “TJ?” And though he would rather do anything else, he closes his textbook and turns to face her. She sits on his bed and fiddles with the comforter. “I know that our house isn’t exactly soundproof. I’m sorry that you have to hear us talk.” He raises his eyebrows at that. ‘Talk’ was one way of putting it.

“TJ, this is a difficult time for us. For all of us.” She reaches out her hand, and when he takes it, she squeezes. “Just know that Dad and I love you, okay? I don’t know how this is going to turn out, but that will never change.” Her voice is suspiciously wet. She clears her throat. “How are you holding up?”

He shrugs. “I’m fine.” And he was! Honest. Mom clearly doesn’t believe him, so he says, “Really. I’m good. I’d talk to you if I’m not. You know that.”

She smiles at him and pats his hand. He doesn’t know why she looks so sad at that.

The date creeps closer to the trial. Dad occasionally comes home with more “news” from his meetings with Lawrence. He brushes off any questions TJ asks or gives him non-answers. ( _“He just wanted to discuss the possibilities after the trial ends.” “We talked about what evidence the prosecutor plans on using.” “Christ, TJ. I already go through the third degree with Connie. I’m not talking about this three times a day!”)_ He hears them talk late into the night, voices quiet enough that TJ can’t determine what is said. And Dad always, _always_ is cheerful. TJ wants to be reassured, to tell himself that if Dad can be optimistic, then he can, too, but that cheer is too closely linked with disaster for him to ever be convinced. TJ doesn’t think about what it means now.

He doesn’t think about a lot of things.

Reporters start to line their street again, cameras flashing at any movement inside the house. Mom keeps the blinds closed. The media speculates what will happen during the trial. Everyone watches the family and wonders if Officer Caruso is guilty.

TJ creeps downstairs and watches the news while his parents are asleep.

One station is playing footage from the day Dad was released.

_Reporters swarm outside the station, anxious to get the best photo of the family reunion. Dad eats the attention up. He smiles charmingly at the cameras, back straight and proud, and teases the ones he knows._

_“Officer Caruso! What do you have to say about the allegations against you?”_

_“Well, my lawyer told me to say no comment,” he says as the crows sags collectively, “but to hell with him!” They perk up. “I’ve served this city for thirty years, and I have always done my best to keep the good people of Brooklyn safe.” He gestures broadly. “Once this is all over, they’ll owe me one hell of a bonus.”_

The clip stops and the host turns to a specialist they dragged up from the middle of nowhere. “As you can see, Caruso is clearly going to fight the allegations; he’s one of the most highly decorated police officers of Brooklyn. Just what is this going to do to the precinct?”

“Well, a trial is obviously embarrassing and very expensive. One has to think about whether or not the district attorney would risk damaging already fragile relations with the police department over anything less than a guaranteed conviction.”

TJ turns it off and stares blankly at the screen. 

 

 

 

 


	2. Anger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “My tongue will tell the anger of my heart, or else my heart concealing it will break.”  
> ― William Shakespeare
> 
> “Holding on to anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else; you are the one who gets burned.”  
> ― Buddha

TJ can’t think of a time where he actually wanted to go back to school. He remembers being excited to start, but one day of classes was enough to change his mind. The teachers are irritable, the classroom stifling, and his classmates too eager to stick their noses in others’ business. The older he gets, the less he likes going.

 

Add a parent getting sued in a criminal trial, however, and suddenly school gets even worse. 

 

Not everyone wants to talk to him, but enough people do that TJ can’t go anywhere without being bombarded with questions. His teachers look at him with pitying glances and gossip during lunch. Everyone watches him.

 

No, TJ can’t ever remember looking forward to going to school.

 

So why is he leaving earlier and earlier to go? School doesn’t start until eight, but he finds himself wandering the halls at seven-thirty, then seven, and finally six-thirty. He would go even earlier, but the school doesn’t open until six-fifteen and Mom was hesitant to let him go to school at all. 

 

The library opens at seven and Mr. Kent is starting to look concerned. TJ’s thankful that the wizened librarian doesn’t pay attention to the news. There’s enough teachers trying to pry details out of him as it is. Honestly, he’s going to scream if he’s pulled aside one more time in class to “check how you’re doing” or “if you ever need to talk.” Even teachers that TJ’s never met before try to get him to spill. Since everyone knows that he’s going through a rough patch, he thought they’d cut him some slack. Give him a little space. 

 

Obviously not. 

 

He hangs out in the library as much as he can. Most students don’t pay attention to the news, too caught up in the latest celebrity scandal or the next party they’re going to. TJ never thought he’d be grateful for the egocentricity of teenagers. They don’t spare him more than a passing glance. Some students, however, can’t stop staring. Kelsey swears they’re vultures, waiting for a chance to tear out his insides and sacrifice them to the media. He could do without the graphic imagery, but he’s too thankful for her presence to mention anything.

 

The two might not have been friends for very long, but Kelsey is more than willing to fight his battles. She staves off unwanted attention during lunch. If he’s being honest, any attention right now is unwanted.

 

They claimed the end of a table in the cafeteria a few weeks ago. TJ normally arrives first, so he opens his calc book to get more practice in. He hears her sit down a couple minutes later and doesn’t bother looking up. She has problems of her own, and they eat lunch in quiet at least once a week.

 

“So, Caruso. Your dad really guilty of framing people?”

 

His head snaps up. It isn’t Kelsey, but Walker. The football player plants his elbows on the table and leans over, obviously trying for intimidation. TJ wants to tell him that it doesn’t work, but to his embarrassment and shame, it does. Just a little. “Come on, Caruso. How many people did your dad frame? Ten? Twenty? A hundred?”

 

He feels his face flush. His voice is tight. “My dad only sent people to jail who deserved it!”

 

“You can trust me.” Walker leans closer, opening his mouth to say something else false and insulting.

 

“What the hell, Walker!” Kelsey slams her lunch tray on the table so hard her food bounces off. She’s furious. TJ doesn’t think he’s seen her face that particular shade of red, not even at that one terrible Christmas party. The venue didn’t adjust the heat for four hundred people, and the temperature skyrocketed. Kelsey wore thick tights and a long sleeve dress - “New York winters are cold!” she defended - and was drenched in sweat by the end of the evening. Privately, TJ thought she looked a bit like a lobster.

 

Walker flinches but recovers quickly. “We’re just having a friendly talk.” He claps TJ on the shoulder a little too hard to be casual. “Right, Caruso?”

 

He shrugs off Walker’s arm and rolls his eyes. “You and I have very different definitions of ‘friendly.’” Walker shoots him a glare full of venom.

 

“You’re sitting in my seat, Walker.” Kelsey waves her hands at him, making shoo-ing motions. “Go on, go back to your football friends. I’m sure you have better things to do than bother us.” Walker stands up. It’s kind of hilarious. He towers over, six foot three at least, and Kelsey is five foot two at most, but she forces him to back down through sheer will power alone. If TJ had any less self-control, he would laugh.

 

Walker glowers at TJ and crosses the cafeteria. 

 

Kelsey tosses her hair over her shoulder. “What a jerk!” She sits with a flounce. He didn’t know it was possible to flounce angrily, but she somehow manages. “Next time he comes up to you, punch him in the face.”

 

That startles a laugh out of him. “I’d break my hand.”

 

“You’d have a cool battle story.”

 

“How is breaking my fist on a football player’s face cool?”

 

She waves him off. “It’s the classic underdog trope. Weak little nerd standing up to the big bad jock. It’s practically a fairy tale.” Kelsey picks up her scattered lunch. “Now, if the damsel had been in distress and didn’t save you, it would be perfect!”

 

“Maybe I’m the damsel.”

 

“Sorry, TJ. You’re not pretty enough to be a damsel.”

 

The tension dissipates after that. The rest of lunch passes pleasantly with no other incidents, and they’re off to their afternoon classes. She wishes him luck during his “nerd hour” and he rolls his eyes. 

 

For all that Kelsey claims she’s not into anything slightly nerdy, he knows that she loves everything to do with computers. She’ll deny knowing anything about them, but she can’t help scolding him when he talks about cool new deals for software he found on the internet. Five minutes deep in a lecture about cyber security, she stops abruptly and finishes with “everyone knows this!” He doesn’t mention most teenagers have no idea what malware is, let alone what it does or statistics about the latest technological advances.

 

TJ doesn’t particularly enjoy calculus. The numbers and letters don’t go over his head, but they certainly smack him in the face. Mrs Jasper prefers to let the students “learn by themselves,” which translates to lecturing for five minutes then giving them homework to do for the rest of the period. TJ likes her style of teaching- he actually learns very well with it- but when he can’t focus his thoughts, the class passes painfully slowly.

 

He stares at the worksheet. The problems make no sense to him. They should. Mrs Jasper just taught them how. He knows the material. He should be able to finish the page before the bell rings, but the correct formulas don’t come. TJ drums his fingers on the desk. The girl to his left glares at him and he switches to bouncing his knee. He glares back. She rolls her eyes before continuing to work on her sheet.

 

His page is still completely blank when the bell rings. TJ sweeps his papers into a folder and beelines to the library. Mr Kent briefly looks up, his glasses distorting his eyes so they look huge, before returning to his reading. 

 

All the jocks gather in the back of the library before practice. They are loud and obnoxious and TJ has no desire to deal with any of them. The tables in the front are populated with teens waiting for the bus and taking the opportunity to goof around with their friends. To be safe, TJ snags a table in the middle of the two masses.

 

No one cares enough to bother him after school, so he has two hours of relative freedom everyday. The library slowly empties around him as he pushes past his lack of focus and scribbles down work for calc. Incorrect work, most likely, but Mrs Jasper doesn’t grade the homework and he just wants something other than a blank page. He’s Mrs Jasper’s favorite student by far. Well, as much a favorite that a teacher who barely tolerates teenagers can have. She doesn’t pick on him to give answers in class, so that’s something.

 

“Library’s closing!” Mr Kent is practically right on top of him when he announces to the mostly empty room. “Five minutes!” TJ rubs his ear. For such an old man, Mr Kent has a really loud voice.

 

He carefully places his homework in his backpack and starts the short trek home. The sidewalks are freshly shoveled and salted, forcing TJ to walk slowly to avoid tripping. The city should put out signs to warn pedestrians of the danger of falling next to a busy road. He wonders if there’s a rule in the city ordinances requiring signs. He places every foot methodically and thinks about how much time this will waste getting home.

 

There are two officers waiting outside a jewelry store sipping steaming coffee. They’re talking quietly to each other while they surveil the street. He recognizes the department patch on their sleeves: they’re some of Dad’s co-workers. His ears burn and his feet are suddenly very interesting. He ducks his head as he walks past.

 

He does not want to think about Dad. In fact, he spends most of his time actively not thinking about him. The trial has made a minefield out of their home. Any mention of it has Dad ranting on and on about his innocence and leaves Mom frowning. TJ’s not stupid. He knows how devastating this is on both of them. Dad is in danger of losing his job or even getting sent to prison. Mom could lose her husband.

 

One last turn and he’s on his street. He ignores how difficult it is to keep moving forward, contemplating instead the cracked bricks of a wall, the ugly curtains the Warrens adore, how Mrs Eddleton never leaves her front window. Birds fly around the trees in massive swarms. He wonders how they eat. The ground’s frozen; everything edible has already been eaten. Maybe all the bird feeders around are screwing up their migration patterns. 

 

The house looms overhead. TJ thinks it could make a good poster for a horror movie silhouetted against the sun and no lights on inside. The snow on the pavement sticks to his shoes, and he somehow manages to slow down further. The porch creaks under his weight.

 

Mom and Dad are in the kitchen. Mom’s arms are crossed; Dad’s learning against a chair; and they both radiate anger. He’s interrupted them. The air is thick and cloying. It sticks in the back of TJ’s throat and burns. 

 

TJ toes off his shoes before braving the room for a glass of water. 

 

“How was school?” Mom doesn’t look at him when she asks.

 

“Fine.”

 

“Good, good.”

 

He wonders if she knows how mechanical she sounds. He wonders if she cares.

 

The room is suffocating. Neither have broken eye contact, and TJ’s stomach clenches. Their standoff is obviously more important than welcoming TJ home. He doesn’t need to be here to listen to them argue. “I’ll be in my room.” He can hear perfectly fine anywhere in the house.

 

The argument picks up immediately. He doesn’t slam the door. He doesn’t.

 

He finds himself sitting with his back against the wall.

 

“We have to send him to college somehow, Tony. How are we going to do that if you don’t take this seriously?”

 

“You think I’m not taking this seriously? I’m the one who’s on trial! I’m sorry but I think preparing my defense is more important than balancing the checkbook!”

 

“It’s not about balancing the checkbook; it’s about how we’re going to come up with the money to send our son to college! Your bank accounts are frozen, Tony. We can’t access any of that money. The only savings I have are for shopping! You can’t pay for college with a shopping account!”

 

“So what? The kid’ll have to get a job. Big deal. I did when I went to college.”

 

“You didn’t have stable parents, Tony.”

 

“And now he doesn’t either. What do you want me to say?”

 

“I don’t want you to say anything! Help me plan for the future.”

 

“What, you think I’ll be sent to prison?”

 

There is a long silence. TJ counts the spaces between heartbeats. His fingernails dig grooves into his palms.

 

“You do, don’t you.”

 

“You’ve never been one for rules, Tony, no matter what form they are.”

 

“My own wife doesn’t believe me. So much for ‘guilty until proven innocent.’ What a joke.”

 

“Tony, please. You are a good man,” Dad scoffs, “but that isn't what’s on trial! You are! Good man or not, if that jury finds you guilty, you are going to prison. What happens to me and TJ then?”

 

“I can’t believe I’m hearing this.”

 

“Tony.”

 

“No! I’ve provided for you for how long? And you can’t be bothered to believe me when I say I’m innocent!”

 

“I’m not saying that!”

 

“I’m going to get a drink. Don’t wait up.”

 

“Tony! So help me, if you leave I’ll-”

 

The door slams and she cuts herself off. Time seems to stop. He doesn’t move, not even when he hears her coming up the stairs, knowing that she’ll catch him but not bothering to hide his eavesdropping. He can’t; he’s frozen in place.

 

“TJ.” She slides down the closed door to sit next to him. He doesn’t look at her. He can’t. Voice thick, she whispers, “I’m so sorry.”

 

He doesn’t know how to comfort people. He doesn’t have any siblings to practice on. She was always the one to calm him. He remembers feeling safe in her arms, and decides that a hug can never hurt.

 

Her tenuous control snaps. She pulls him close and sobs, and for a brief moment, TJ hates his father. If the man could act so callously to his wife, to the best person TJ has ever known, then TJ wants no part of him. Immediately after that treacherous thought flits through his mind, TJ recoils. This is his dad he’s thinking about.

 

His thoughts clash until he stops thinking altogether.

 

Mom calms down gradually, and when her sobs reduce to sniffles, she stands up. TJ’s arm fell asleep twenty minutes ago, but he shakes out the pins and needles sensation without complaint. She brushes his hair off his forehead and cups his face. Her hand is cool.

 

She looks straight at him for the first time today. Her makeup streaks down her blotchy face and her brown eyes are watery, but she’s seeing him. “I love you so much, TJ. Don’t you ever forget that. You are my first priority, you hear me?” She kisses his forehead. “You are the best thing in my life.” Her lips tremble. “I love you so much.” She draws him into another embrace. “It’s not your job to worry about us. Your dad and I will be fine, no matter how this ends.” She squeezes him tightly before she lets him go, smiles faintly at him, and leaves to go to her room. Alone.

 

TJ sits, staring at nothing, for hours. School will be rough tomorrow if he doesn’t go to sleep soon, but he doesn’t move. He waits long enough that his back cramps and his head drops towards his chest. He thinks of all the homework he still needs to do, all the studying he should do, all the things he could be doing instead of sitting in the dark. He thinks of everything except why he’s still conscious in the first place.

 

The door opens and TJ hears Dad stumble in. There’s a heavy thump of something falling. Dad mutters a curse. The fridge opens; bottles clink. A chair squeaks and something pings.

 

All of a sudden, TJ doesn’t want to be awake anymore. He lies down and pretends he doesn’t hear his father stagger up the stairs.

 

The next day dawns bright and clear and entirely too early. His alarm clock doesn’t go off. TJ wakes up in a panic to Mom leaving. He tries to blink the sleep out of his eyes the entire walk to school unsuccessfully. He crashes in the library, deciding that a power nap wouldn’t be misplaced. It’s noisy and filled with students, but he doesn’t care. Mr Kent shakes him awake with two minutes until the bell rings.

 

He doesn’t have his homework to turn in to his second hour teacher. She shakes her head disappointedly and TJ has to stop himself from rolling his eyes. He thought only teachers in corny, cliche high school movies. His feet tap out an uneven rhythm on the ugly carpet. He wants to run out of the classroom, anxious to move but he doesn’t know why. The classroom is too small, too crowded. Has it always been this warm?

 

The bell rings and he’s out the door. It’s not until he’s already seated in his next class that he realizes he’s breathing heavily, which is ridiculous. There is barely a hundred feet between the two classes. There’s absolutely no reason to be out of breath. He tells himself that the room is too hot, and that’s why he can’t steady his breathing. His face feels too tight, like someone put it through the wash and it shrunk in the dryer.

 

“Is it true about your dad?” He looks over. Sara Talbot is leaning across the aisle conspiratorially. She’s one of the most popular girls in school. She’s never talked to him before. Collaborated on the homework at the most. She smiles sweetly at him. There’s lipstick on her teeth. “Come on, TJ. I won’t tell anyone!”

 

He focuses on the smear of pink, and comes to the realization that he’s sick of it. Dad, Walker, arguments, speculation. Everything. His life sucks right now, but no one wants to listen about his trouble paying attention in class. They want to hear the juicy details. They want a story painting city hero Tony Caruso in as dirty a light as possible. They want to drag his name through the mud.

 

He bares his teeth at her in a facsimile of a smile and leans in. Her eyes light up, and TJ ignores the sick feeling in his stomach. “You’re right. You won’t tell anyone because I’m not going to tell you anything!” Sara drops her smile and glares at him.

 

“Whatever, Caruso. I bet you help him. I bet he’s teaching you all about how to be a crooked cop!” 

 

He doesn’t get a chance to reply. The teacher walks in and the lesson starts. He feels her judgmental gaze on him the entire period.

 

The library is closed after school; there’s probably some sort of meeting every teacher is required to attend. TJ stares at the locked doors. Maybe if he waits long enough, they would open. He stays as long as he dares, doors remaining stubbornly shut, but he concedes defeat when a teacher passes and gives him a curious look.

 

Dad isn’t home. TJ feels a wave of something. He can’t tell if it’s relief or disappointment. He isn’t sure which one would be better.

 

“TJ? That you?” Mom’s in the kitchen again. There are three pots on the stove while she chops a mound of vegetables. His eyes water and his nose tingles with the smell of onions. She smiles at him. “You’re home early. How was school?”

 

“Good. Boring.” He drops his backpack on the stairs.

 

“How’s your project going?”

 

“Good.” He lies through his teeth. There is no project. He knows Mom wouldn’t allow him to stay after school for no reason, so he made one. He doesn’t like lying, hates it actually, but he figures the ends justify the means. Just this once. He isn’t lying, really. Homework is a short term project if thought about in the right way. He’s still doing schoolwork, even if it isn’t the kind she thinks it is.

 

“That’s great, sweetie.” She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. “Listen, could you grab the mail? I’ve been busy all day today and I forgot about it.”

 

How busy could she be? She didn’t go with Dad to any of his meetings, and she took two weeks off work. So why couldn’t she have gotten the mail? He’s actually busy.

 

He swallows his irritation. “Sure.”

 

The little box is close to overflowing with letters. They haven’t gotten this much mail in...well, ever. Maybe Mom forgot to grab the mail all week. He shrugs and empties the box. He has to take two trips, the box is so full.

 

He sorts the envelopes in piles: Dad, Mom, the Caruso family, obvious junk mail, himself, and blank. There were five blank ones in the whole pile. Nonplussed, he puts them in with Dad’s mail before opening his.

 

The first one is a nasty letter condemning his whole family to hell. It’s unsigned with no return address.

 

Stomach churning, he opens the next one. Letters from magazine pages were cut up and glued to the paper. It’s remarkably childish, and a laugh bubbles in his throat, but when TJ reads the vile words on the page, he can’t find the humor.

 

He doesn’t open a third.

 

“TJ! Set the table please!”

 

“Sure!” He picks up the blank envelopes, his, and the junk mail, and throws them away. Stories of people getting hate mail or even poison race through his mind, and he regrets begging his dad to tell him about his cases. He debates showing Dad the letters, and dismisses the thought. There’s no reason to stress Dad out even more. He dumps the rest on the counter for his parents to open.

 

“Dad should be home in half an hour. I’d like to have dinner on the table for him, okay?”

 

“Why?” He opens the cupboard, hiding his expression. “It’s not like he’d care.”

 

“TJ.” He hears the warning. Mom’s annoyed. He continues on, aware he’s digging a hole for himself but the words fall out of his mouth regardless. The letters pushed him over the edge he didn’t know he was standing on. He’s tired of walking on eggshells in his house.

 

“He doesn’t! He probably had dinner over at Lou’s. Why do we have to wait for him?”

 

“Your father has been in meetings with his lawyer all day. We can do something nice for him when he gets home.”

 

“Why? Why should we?” TJ sets the plates on the counter before he drops them. He can’t stop his hands from curling into fists. “You just want to make sure he doesn’t go to the bar again tonight!”

 

“TJ!”

 

He’s horrified, really, of what is coming out of his mouth. The words are cruel, intended to hurt, and they do. Mom has tears in her eyes and a hand clenched over her heart, but her face is set in stone. She’s angry.

 

“That’s enough! Go to your room!”

 

He stomps, putting every ounce of defiance he feels in his feet, up the stairs. He’s furious, absolutely furious, and for several minutes he paces around the room fuming. What reason does she have to pretend everything’s normal? To pretend Dad will be home for dinner. They all know he won’t.

 

Dad is proud. He won’t come back, won’t even think about it, until Mom reaches out. Until Mom forgives him.

 

TJ remembers another instance where Dad ran. It must have been six years ago. His parents fought every day. He didn’t know what they were fighting about, but later that year they moved to their new house. He remembers barely seeing Dad for several weeks. Mom danced around the subject, distracting him with games and ice cream and never answering his questions. When Dad came back, everything returned to normal and he forgot all about the incident.

 

He sits on the edge of his bed. He feels sick. Thoughts swirl in his head, spiraling around each other and never going anywhere. Walker’s taunts, the arguments, the hate mail. He wonders if Mom received any. She’s easily the most empathetic person TJ knows. How would she handle getting death threats delivered to her door?

 

It’s not his mom’s fault. It isn’t his. 

 

It’s entirely Dad’s.

 

His conscience pierces his anger. He’s a hypocrite if he condemns his dad for upsetting his mom and then turns around and does it himself. 

 

TJ looks at the clock. Dad was supposed to be home an hour ago. There’s no noise downstairs; Mom’s still waiting for Dad. He quietly makes his way back to the kitchen. Now that he’s calmed down, he’s embarrassed. Teenagers are not toddlers. They shouldn’t throw temper tantrums. He has to be strong. He won’t be of any use to Mom if he can’t keep his emotions in check.

 

She’s sitting at the table, pushing food around her plate. She didn’t notice him come down.

 

“Mom?”

 

The table rattles as she startles. “TJ? What,” she trails off.

 

Apologies are never easy to give. At least, sincere ones aren’t. And they shouldn’t be. It isn’t easy to admit when one is in the wrong. He steels himself. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. Any of it.” He takes a deep breath. “I don’t know why I got so angry.”

 

She deflates. “Oh, TJ.” If the hug she draws him into is tighter than normal, well. TJ wasn’t going to say anything. “I know, baby. It’s a hard time for all of us right now. I know.” Mom releases him with a smile. “You want anything to drink? Dinner’s on the table.”

 

The rest of the night passes peacefully. 

 

He doesn’t wait up.

 

No one approaches him the next day, but he can feel them staring. If he turns quickly, he catches their gaze and holds it until they look away. Occasionally, they keep staring at him, challenging him. To what, he doesn’t know. For some reason he doesn’t want to find out.

 

Kelsey must have heard about his little showdown with Sara. She spends the entire lunch period ranting about backstabbing friends that wouldn’t know loyalty if it bit them in the- well, she rants the whole time. He tries to listen to her, he really does, but after the fifth variation he can’t bring himself to concentrate. She doesn’t comment when he pulls out his homework, and leaves him with a cheerful, “Have a good weekend, TJ!”

 

Mom and Dad have another fight that night. He’s actually working on homework and is reaching for the volume on his stereo to drown them out when he hears his name.

 

“What about TJ? You’ve barely seen him this month!”

 

“Oh, I’m sorry that trying to stay out of prison is time consuming! What do you want me to do? Tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it.”

 

“I don’t want to tell you to do anything. I want you to grow up!”

 

“Is TJ what this is about?”

 

“No, it’s not about TJ. It’s you, Tony! You haven’t been a father to him since this whole thing began.”

 

“I can’t spend any time with TJ if I’m in prison, now, can I? You want me to spend less time on my defense?” TJ pictures his father pacing around the kitchen table. “Fine! I’ll take him hiking tomorrow. We’ll make it a day trip. That good enough for you?”

 

“Don’t do it to get me off your back, Tony. Don’t you dare.”

 

“First you want me to spend time with my son and now you don’t?”

 

“Tony!” 

 

“Alright, Connie, you win. Now can I go and do some work, please?”

 

TJ’s stomach drops. Of course his dad would do what Mom asked. He could never refuse his beloved wife anything (except being an honest cop). TJ is going to waste his weekend going hiking with his dad, who’s only going to stop Mom from nagging at him.

 

He can’t wait.

 

They leave early. The sun hasn’t risen yet, depriving TJ of any excuse to look out the window or any distraction to draw his attention. He can’t think of a rule, unspoken or otherwise, that forbids painful small talk. There should be.

 

“How’s school going? Do you still have Mrs Dodson? I swear, that woman’s over a hundred years old. Batty, too. What does she teach again? History? That would be hilarious. I bet she watched the pyramids get built.” Dad glances over, dissatisfied with TJ’s continued silence. “So, ah, TJ. How you holding up? You know, with everything.”

 

“I’m great.”

 

“Sure. I bet everything’s just peachy. You want to try again?”

 

“I don’t know how you want me to answer that.” TJ stares straight ahead, resolutely refusing to look at his father. Road signs flash by too fast. He’s gone down this stretch of road so many times with Mom he has it memorized. He knows exactly how many seconds should pass between each sign, but Dad always manages to half the time. He wonders what would happen if they were to get pulled over for speeding.

 

Nothing, probably.

 

Dad laughs. It’s too stiff to be anything other than forced. “That’s a bullshit answer.”

 

“What do you want me to say? That everything sucks?” TJ risks a look at Dad only to find him looking intensely right back at him. “Eyes on the road!” He sees Dad roll them before he complies.

 

“Yeah!” The amount of condescension packed into the word sets TJ’s teeth on edge. “I asked you an honest question; I want an honest answer. Is anybody giving you a hard time? I’ll know their teeth out.” He claps TJ on the shoulder.

 

“Please, just keep both hands on the wheel.”

 

Dad snorts. “If I wanted a back seat driver, I would have brought your mother.” 

 

TJ wishes she came. She’s as conscientious for the rules of the road as he is, and somehow, Dad occasionally listens to her. Rarely. When she’s in the car. And in a particularly a bad mood. And she’s the one driving.

 

So, no, Dad doesn’t actually listen to her.

 

“Why didn’t you?”

 

“This is a father-son bonding trip. Can’t exactly have that with your mother here. Besides, when was the last time we did something just the two of us?”

 

“Two summers ago. You took me to the shooting range.” It was fun. Practicing his aim is always enjoyable. Getting to test out all the different types of weapons was cool, too. Dad spent the afternoon teaching him the nuances between the manufacturers and the styles themselves. TJ guards his memory of that day very carefully. 

 

“Really? Two years ago?” Dad rubs his jaw. “We need to get out more, TJ.”

 

Isn’t that perfect. As if Dad was doing this all just for him. “Why?”

 

“What’d you mean why? Do I need a reason to spend time with my son?”

 

“Don’t you?”

 

“Oh, I don’t know, Anthony.” The use of his full name makes his blood boil. Dad has a way of letting vitriol drip off his words. “Maybe I just want to hang out with you.”

 

“Or maybe you just want to get Mom off your back.” TJ can’t believe he said that. He is so dead. Dad won’t tolerate any disrespect. TJ has to do damage control. However, the apology lodges in his throat and the words hang in the air, because while he normally wouldn’t say them out loud, they’re true. And he won’t apologize for the truth.

 

Dad doesn’t answer. They drive the rest of the way in silence, TJ alternating between picking at his jacket and staring out the window.

 

They finally pull into the parking lot of the hiking trail. Dad turns the car off and doesn’t look at TJ when he says, “We’re here, hotshot. Grab the bags from the back.” Grateful for the chance to get out of the car, TJ does without a word.

 

The first half hour of the hike is extremely uncomfortable. There’s enough snow on the ground to be slick if he doesn’t watch where he steps. Dad practically stomps on the trail and seems content to pretend TJ didn’t exist. After that, however, his mood lifts with each mile they walk, until TJ almost wishes for silence again.

 

“Did I ever tell you about the most successful money laundering ring I ever busted? It was a family business. They ran the whole thing out of grandma’s apartment. This was when I still worked with Kolowinski. It was our last case together. It all started when we realized this bakery that should’ve closed down ages ago was still around, even though it was only open in the mornings on weekdays.”

 

TJ knows this story inside and out. It’s a favorite of Dad’s to pull out at parties, showing off his amazing detective skills and commendable dedication. It’s always a hit.

 

“So I say to Kolowinski, we need to check it out. We find stacks of cash hidden everywhere: floorboards, vents, even found a bag in the toilet. We get a warrant to look around a little more and find a money printing machine. All in this grandma’s apartment.”

 

Something strikes a chord in TJ’s mind. The wording seems odd. “Did the owners let you search?” He asks.

 

“Of course not! What, you think that crooks let you waltz in whenever you want? Roll out the red carpet when you come?” Dad scoffs. “Wouldn’t that be nice.”

 

“Then why’d you say you got the warrant after you found the cash?”

 

Dad missteps. He recovers immediately, turning the stumble into a smooth side shuffle. Not quickly enough to fool TJ. He notices and can’t shove the rising doubt down.

 

“Did I? That was a mistake. We got a warrant before we searched the bakery.”

 

“Really?” TJ snaps. “Then why’d you say it like that?”

 

“Jeez, TJ, I just misspoke. Is that a crime now?” Dad whirls around to face TJ. His face is flushed, but TJ doesn’t think it’s from the cold. “Are you accusing me of something? Do you got something you want to say?”

 

TJ refuses to back down. He can’t quite bring himself to move forward, either. Dad grinds his teeth together. “Is it too much to ask for one day? One day where I don’t have to convince everyone of my innocence? God forbid that great TJ Caruso should believe his father! His own flesh and blood.”

 

Dad steps forward, forcing TJ to tilt his head to look him in the eye. TJ’s trembling, almost vibrating, with tension and anxiety. He knows that Dad sees. They’re too close for him to not. TJ hates this, hates the adrenaline tracing through his veins.

 

“Listen. Do you know what happens if I’m found guilty? I go to prison.” Dad laughed bitterly. “Prison! Do you want your old man to go to jail? Huh? I’m a good cop. So what if I didn’t follow every single rule in the damn book. You can’t if you want to do anything, if you want to be effective, if you want to get criminals off the street. Does that mean that I deserve to go to prison?”

 

Dad runs a hand over his face and steps away. He looks old, TJ realizes suddenly. He looks so much older than he should. But concern flares and anger rages in equal amounts, and he’s rooted to the spot. They stand in silence for one minute, then two, before Dad rolls his shoulders and keeps walking up the trail.

 

The rest of the trip is suffocating. TJ has to bite his lip to prevent himself from blurting out apologies. Mom raised him with manners, but she also raised him with morality. He won’t condone breaking the rules and if that makes him rude, so be it. The thought sours his stomach and doesn’t keep the ache from his chest. TJ loves his father. He really, really does.

 

He just needs to figure out where respect fits in.

 

It’s a relief when they pull into their driveway. TJ slings his backpack over his shoulder and escapes upstairs. He hasn’t even put the bag down when Mom slips into his room. “How’d it go?”

 

“It was really pretty. It’s always nice to get out of the city.”

 

“That’s good.” Mom flashes him a smile. Her mind is a million miles away. Then he hears the fridge open downstairs and amends the thought. Her mind is clearly down the stairs and in the kitchen. He watches her for a minute, not having the energy to diffuse the silence. He wonders how long it will take her to remember that she’s talking to her son. Or even if she will at all.

 

She goes to pat his shoulder, misses, and pats his head instead, before slipping back out. She didn’t look at him. It doesn't take long until hushed voices cut through the too thin walls with venom.

 

TJ lets their words build into a dull roar crashing over him, sweeping him under until he can’t breathe and he can’t  _ breathe _ and  _ he can’t breathe _ . His palms bite with a sharp pain and his fingers ache and he can’t seem to unclench his hands or his jaw and he hates it, he hates all of it. He snarls at the wall. His stomach is roiling with emotion, bitter and foul and welcome, bubbling under his skin until he might just explode (and wouldn’t it be nice if he could).

 

He glares at his mirror and doesn’t try to pretend it’s not his dad he’s angry at.


End file.
